More Than A Team
by fictionalcandie
Summary: Hardison said they were more than a team, and Parker eventually said it too, but she still has a question. Of course she does. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own this. If I did, I would not be waiting until tonight to watch the seventh episode!

**Author's Notes:** I'd appreciate some concrit on this one, mostly because I'm really unsure about my characterisations. (I apologise for what I've done with Parker, by the way; but after consideration of her apparent issues with other humans, I decided it was possible, and I thought it would be… interesting. Haha.) Let me know what you think!

**Warnings:** Strong sexual content and some moderately strong language. Beware?

* * *

**More Than A Team**

They didn't wait until they got back to their Headquarters — of course, neither did Nate and Sophie, but they could always at least use Sophie's shopping as a cover, if for some inconceivable reason they needed one.

When it came right down to it, Parker and Hardison barely waited until they got to their hotel in Paris. They might not even have waited that long, if they and the others weren't so busy; what with dropping off the ice cream-filled children, ensuring that they left no trace of themselves in Belgrade, and of course the actual _fleeing_, the Leverage team had rather a lot to do after blowing up the orphanage.

Hardison still found time to think about Parker's words, however, not to mention the way she'd said them.

Which was probably _why_ they barely waited until Paris.

"So, Parker," he began, as soon as he got her relatively alone — they were in the hotel corridor, outside the row of rooms he'd got them, and the only person within earshot was Eliot, who barely counted (except in his capacity to make snide remarks and stir trouble that Hardison didn't need). "A little more than a team, huh?"

Eliot's eyebrows rose and he looked between the other two, but didn't say anything; his expression said clearly enough, that he wasn't certain he was included in the conversation.

Standing a couple of feet away with her arms casually crossed, Parker just looked at him. "You said it first," she pointed out, and Hardison wasn't sure how to defend himself. "And we are, aren't we?"

Apparently deciding he got to contribute to the conversation after all, Eliot nodded down the hall, to where Nate and Sophie were waiting for the elevator, not touching but standing so close together they might have been, their bodies turned slightly to each other and their heads inclined to make ignoring the world easier. "Well," he said dryly, "_they_ are."

Parker frowned slightly, turning. "What?"

A little alarmed, Hardison cleared his throat, hoping Eliot wouldn't actually explain — but why _wouldn't_ Eliot?

"Those two," said Eliot, as the elevator doors closed on Nate and Sophie. "Anybody who thinks they're just _teammates_ is —"

"Oh, so you know they're sleeping together too?" asked Parker, interrupting him as calmly as if they were discussing the weather, instead of their leader's lovelife, which just happened to involve the fourth member of their little group.

While Hardison closed his eyes and tried to pretend he couldn't hear them, Eliot looked a little surprised. "They _are_?" he exclaimed. "I thought they were just dancing around."

"I don't know if they were before Juan," replied Parker reasonably, and Hardison reopened his eyes, so he could see her expression. "But after the Bank—" which they all knew meant Nate's getting shot "— they have been."

Eliot stared at her. Hardison presumed the other man was wondering how she knew. Hardison knew better than to do _that_. Parker could get pretty much anywhere she wanted to, after all, and assuming she'd been curious— but it was probably better if he didn't think about it.

"All the time," Parker added, and there was suddenly a look on her face that for all the attention Hardison had devoted to studying her, he didn't recognize.

Eliot considered this for a half a second or two, then shrugged. "… Yeah, I guess I'm not surprised."

Parker turned away from Eliot before he'd finished speaking, that expression on her face intensifying as she caught Hardison's eyes. "So," she said, rather forcefully, "we're more than a team?"

"Parker—" Hardison began quickly, ready to run damage control.

She ignored him. "Why aren't we sleeping together?"

Hardison wasn't proud of the noise he made.

Eliot glanced between them, again. "I am not going shopping," he declared flat. "If you two want to be alone, you can—"

Parker pulled Hardison into her hotel room before he could reply or Eliot could finish. As they disappeared, Hardison thought he saw Eliot roll his eyes.

"Well, Hardison?" she persisted, once the door had closed behind them. She was still holding the front of his shirt in a deceptively light grip; most likely, if Hardison tried to get free, he'd only end up embarrassing himself.

Not that he was weak, or anything, even if he was a geek. Only, Parker was pretty strong, especially for a girl, _and_ quick, _and_ limber, _and_ — well, a lot of things.

"_Well_?" she repeated, more impatiently, pulling him a little closer.

Distracted by her forearms against his chest, Hardison blinked and cleared his throat. "Well, what?"

"Why," she snapped impatiently, trying to shake him but failing because he was so much bigger than she was, "aren't we having sex yet?"

Just like the first time she'd asked a question like that, Hardison's mind went rather blank — except, of course, for all those mental images of them doing things you couldn't put on film unless the rating were a bunch of X's, in positions that you couldn't even _talk_ about on television — though fortunately he managed not to choke on air this time.

"Because we've still got our clothes on?" he offered weakly, trying to stall long enough for his brain to come back from its vacation in the land of pornographic imagination.

He had forgotten what sort of person he was dealing with, though. Parker, as of course she would do, took him literally.

Her shirt came off, along with whatever might have been underneath it, in less time than it usually took Hardison to blink, and she was standing topless in front of him.

Reaching for his belt, no less.

Hardison's absent brain bought a summer house and started making friends with the neighbors. "Parker!" he tried to protest, grabbing her hands to stop her removing any more of their clothes. "I was joking!"

Parker gave him a flat look. A _very_ flat look.

"I think I was, at least," he mumbled, his eyes drifting down from her face to the bare expanse of her torso.

"You're staring," she declared, sounding the tiniest bit uneasy about the fact. Or it was possibly only irritation that he was still completely dressed, and thus not available for _her_ to stare at, too.

Hardison was having trouble deciding if he should care. He was rather preoccupied.

_God_, she had beautiful skin.

And nice nipples.

_Really_ nice nipples.

They hardened under his gaze, and he unconsciously let go of her arms, bringing his hands up so he could touch them.

Her resulting moan reminded him who and where they were, and that they'd been _discussing_ something. Something rather important, really. Except he couldn't exactly recall what that important something _was_ — only that it involved undressing and sex.

_Lots_ of sex, if he were lucky.

He moved his fingers, rubbing them across her nipples as he tried to remember what they'd been talking about before his teammate had removed her shirt and—

Parker's next moan came barely a heartbeat before Hardison hastily removed his hands from her breasts. He followed the retreat with a larger one, taking several steps back from her.

"Hardison?" she questioned, and she looked annoyed.

"Look, Parker, I'm enjoying this and all—" he started to say, but quickly stopped and started over when he saw the way she glared. "What are we _doing_, baby?"

Parker's annoyance seemed to have dissipated, at least a bit, though she still stood with her hands on her hips and glared. "Being more than a team," she replied shortly. It sounded like she thought that should have been obvious to him.

Hardison swallowed. His eyes were drifting to her breasts again, which was dangerous if he wanted to be able to keep talking. "You're definitely hot and all, Parker, girl, but I don't think we should—"

"Well, I _do_ think we should," she snapped, cutting his words off. Then she made sure he didn't pick them back up and start over, by unfastening her pants — partially exposing a pair of panties that were, _of course_, black. She bent, to remove her shoes.

Hardison _tried_ to keep his brain from running off to its summer house again, even went so far as to start internally reciting the access routes to a few firewall-protected systems he wasn't supposed to know how to get into, but that didn't help because it only made him think of _other_ places he wanted to get into. He kept trying, though — right up until she straightened, fixed determinedly gleaming eyes on him, and pushed down both her pants _and_ her underwear.

"...oh, damn," he gasped, thoughts of those _other_ places he wanted intensifying.

She let him stare for a minute, standing perfectly still, before she spoke. "Hardison, I want you naked and touching me by the count of five." Her almost shy tone was incongruous with both the unselfconscious way she stood and the bluntness of the words themselves, so Hardison ignored it. He kept staring, though.

"One."

Her nipples weren't the _only_ nice, pink parts of her.

"Two."

"Parker, I _really_—" he attempted, one final time, his voice utterly lacking any kind of conviction whatsoever.

"Three." She grabbed his shirt with one white little fist, yanked him roughly forward, and kissed him.

Her lips against his were hot, wild and unrestrained, just like the rest of her. While her tongue traced his lips and slipped unimpeded into his mouth, she pressed every other glorious inch of her naked body against him — even through his clothes, the feeling was better than anything Hardison could ever remember.

Then her free hand was undoing his jeans and pushing aside his boxers to grab him — and he couldn't remember anything but her name.

"_Parker_!"

She smirked, widely, and somehow feeling the action against his lips was even more exciting than when he watched her form the same expression from across the room, three other people there with them, and longed to do wicked things to it.

Then, softly, she laughed.

It might have been the sexiest thing he'd ever heard.

"Parker, girl—" moaned Hardison, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around her wrist but not actually pulling her hand away, though he did turn his head so he couldn't feel that smirk anymore. "You gotta stop."

"I don't want to," she replied, into his ear. Her voice sounded strange; breathless and needy where it was normally rather flat and slightly insane. "Do you want me to stop?"

He moaned again. "That's not even the question anymore. But if you _don't_—"

Parker squeezed.

He choked on her name.

"If I don't?" she echoed, and he thought he felt her lips on his neck, barely brushing the skin.

"Aw now you're just playing with me."

Her laughter this time was so faint he barely caught it, but the way she let go immediately seemed to admit that he'd been right. He wanted to protest, regardless, when she pulled her hand from his pants, but he didn't and she pushed him slightly away.

Without speaking, she started to take his clothes off. His hat went first — typical Parker to start _all the way_ at the top — followed by his t-shirt, and then she stopped to stare at his bare chest.

It made him feel funny inside, the way pulling their first _real_ job for Nate had, to have her looking at him like _that_. Like he were a whole case of hundred-dollar bills, just for her.

Her hands — so nimble, so clever, that could crack a safe or liberate a priceless work of art from its frame in seconds — traced reverently down his torso. He suppressed the urge to shiver, watching. Her ridiculously pale skin was a beautiful contrast to his own, so much darker, and he loved the sight so much he almost wanted to paint it, so he could look at it forever.

Later.

When he didn't have Parker shoving him backwards to sit on the bed so she could take his shoes off and strip him completely.

For a moment, after she had him naked, when she was just _staring_ again, he was afraid that she was going to repeat her teasing caresses on the rest of him. All the parts of him she hadn't touched yet liked the idea — and there was one part of him she _had_ touched that liked the idea _too much_ for the rational part of him to agree.

But she turned away instead, briefly bringing back exactly the same fear he'd felt when she'd jumped from that balcony and disappeared, until he realize she was just going back to the small pile of clothes and fishing something from the pocket of her pants. His genius took a second to tell him what she'd retrieved, and he would have felt like an idiot if he were capable of processing anything other than desire.

Parker really _could_ get anywhere. His scrambled thoughts were proof of it.

As soon as she was back within arm's reach, he was touching her, one hand going to play with her breasts again. The other went around behind her to trace the dimples of her spine, marching down her back like keys on laptop, making him long to become as familiar with _her_. Her hands, meanwhile, were also busy, opening the little packet and slipping its contents onto him — with rather an unnecessary level of caressing, he thought. He was already close enough to completely out of control, he didn't need her pushing him further.

"C'mere," he muttered, a little hoarsely, urging her onto the bed beside him. She willingly knelt next to him, warm and smooth and everywhere he wanted.

He rolled them over and made to settle between her thighs, but to his surprise she raised one leg and hooked a knee over his shoulder, despite the difference in their heights. She laughed at the expression on his face.

"I'm good at getting tricky places for a _reason_, you know," she pointed out in a low voice while using that leg to draw him a little closer, the slight reminder of her flexibility inescapable.

She'd lined up their bodies perfectly, Hardison had nothing to say to that, so he decided to act instead.

Bending to push a fierce kiss on her eager mouth, he started to slide inside her, uselessly cussing at himself inside his head to go _slow_ and not give in to warm wetness of her body. Then he felt something he hadn't expected — though, really, he _should_ have — and stopped completely.

"Jesus, girl—" he hissed, pulling back slightly to stare at her. "Parker, you're—"

"Only technically, and not _anymore_, I'm not," she replied breathlessly, then arched her hips up and almost completely obliterated thought.

"_Baby_," he moaned, trying for half a moment to keep holding himself in check.

"_Hardison_," she moaned back, his name on her lips sounding right, and he lost it.

His hips surged forward, burying himself in her totally. For that first instant, he had to actually remind himself to care about her tiny flinch of pain, that's how good he felt.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered, and hid his face in her neck so she wouldn't see what she was doing to him. "God, you feel so—"

"Are you going to move now?"

Really, when she put it like that, he couldn't _not_.

She actually _screamed_.

He would have come right then, except this time, her pain made _him_ hurt too. He froze again.

"Don't stop," Parker pleaded, locking her legs more tightly. One of her arms was around him, as well, fingers digging into his back just like her other hand was clenching the pillow above her head. "Oh, Hardison, _don't stop_."

He tried to tell her that he wasn't going to, that he doubted he could even if he'd _wanted_, but all that would come out was a hoarse moan of her name.

Then they were moving together, back and forward and in and out, and she was wrapped around him like she never meant to let him go, and he lost himself in the slick, thrusting slide of their bodies.

Her orgasm hit first, spiraling her off into ecstasy after only a few minutes. He kept going — she absolutely _wouldn't_ let him stop, anyway — too mesmerized by the way pleasure flooded her face, every last one of her many shields down for the first time. She was a completely different person that way, and yet she hadn't changed at all; it was amazing.

His own release, not _that_ long after hers, came a lot sooner than he wanted it too. But Parker seemed to like the way he shook as it hit, the noise he made into her mouth, and even how he collapsed on top of her after. She sighed happily into his shoulder, briefly tightening her hold on him.

When Hardison rolled over to lie on his back next to her, she let him go reluctantly, following to rest her head on his chest.

That made him feel funny inside, too.

"You should have warned me," he murmured, once his breathing had slowed a bit and he'd stopped staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

She stretched languidly, almost feline, snuggling closer to his side. "Warned you about what?"

Hardison struggled for a moment with how to say it. "That you'd never actually done _that_ before."

She stiffened slightly. The difference was barely discernible, but he noticed — he would have been mad at himself for bringing it up, knowing how much Parker _didn't_ like talking about anything that involved herself and the past, if he hadn't thought it was important.

"Was it obvious?" she asked in a low, careful voice.

He could have laughed.

"Not until the last minute," he swore, with complete honesty. "Really, girl, I still can't believe that you were—"

Parker cut him off before he could say it. "Is it a bad thing?" she whispered, her tone unchanged.

"No!"

She jerked against him, startled by his vehemence.

"Didn't I tell you I like how you turned out?" questioned Hardison softly, bringing his arm down and wrapping it around her to reinforce the sentiment.

"You did," she agreed, but she still sounded careful.

"I meant it."

To his surprise, she laughed. "I know," she muttered into his chest. "And that's why we're more than a team."

He couldn't help it.

He snickered.

She didn't seem to mind, so he dropped the subject — and she _really_ didn't seem to mind _that_.


End file.
